


Book 1 of Loving Darkness Series

by Aslog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:37:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10018763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aslog/pseuds/Aslog
Summary: Harriet Potter transforms. A dark rewriting of Harriet Potter. Not for the faint of heart. Starts at first year, will be romance later on. This is a hardcore fic, so please be cautious. No Flamers please.





	

Book 1 of Loving Darkness Series  
Chapter 1: Stone Stolen  
Albus Dumbledore was engaged in a rather intense staring contest with the portrait of former Headmaster Phineas Black. This in itself was not unusual. Indeed they participated in these competitions at least once a fortnight. 

What was unusual about this particular contest was that Minerva McGonagall happened to be watching them watch each other with a look of barely restrained impatience on her face. This situation of silence and staring had lasted approximately five more minutes before the Deputy Headmistress had had enough. 

“Really, Albus,” She snapped indignantly, “We haven’t time to spare for this foolery. Either he tells us something of worth or not,” She said while sweeping her eyes over the portrait of the dour man in distaste. Dumbledore made no reply but continued staring. Minerva kept watching them for a few minutes more with eyes barely concealed their anger. Having had enough, she burst out saying:  
“The Flemmel’s deserve better than this, Albus,” Minerva’s voice as jagged as cliffs. With this outburst, Dumbledore turned towards the younger witch with a grave look in his eyes.

“My dear,” he began with a frown, the familiar twinkle in his eye all but extinguished “do you believe that this act of savagery hasn’t affected me.”

“I know you cared for the Flemmels,” Minerva interrupted tartly, “which is why it’s surprising that you are here and not assisting the Auror’s catch this fiend.”  
For a flickering moment, Albus Dumbledore suddenly looked old, and Minerva was reminded abruptly that Albus was not infallible, “Minerva, I was the first Wizard notified after the bodies were found,” he looked deep into her eyes and regarded her steadily; the pain held in those blue eyes chilled her blood.  
“It’s been nearly twelve years since I have felt that amount of Dark Magic in a home,” was all the answer Albus gave.  
It was enough.  
“Albus, you don’t think.”  
“I am thinking a large number of things, Minerva, but all I know is that two dear friends are dead and a very powerful magical artifact is missing,” Albus Dumbledore stared at the stern countenance of his deputy and saw fear and determination war for prominence in her eyes.  
“Albus, is this the start of War? Shall I rally the others,” Minerva spoke quickly and harshly, like lives already depended on her swiftness.  
“Minerva, I have no proof beyond a few vague feelings in this matter. Many would say it's paranoia or old age creeping up on me,” he laughed softly to himself at this. “Merlin knows they’d whisper that I’m going the way of Alister,” His eyes briefly twinkled to his colleagues before they dimmed and he whispered, “but if what I fear is true then it may be time to prepare ourselves.”  
Minerva closed her eyes and nodded her head sharply. She rose to leave, and as she made her way across the brightly carpeted room, she turned to stare at Dumbledore in all his blue and magenta-robed glory. “This may not have anything to do with You Know Who,” she remarked hopefully “the Philosopher’s Stone is a valuable piece of magic,” She turned to look at Dumbledore more thoroughly “the deaths could have been motivated by pure greed.”  
Albus Dumbledore stood up from his desk and bowed at the waist to her.  
Minerva nodded in return, and softly closed the door behind her.

Chapter 2: Some Bloody News  
Harriet Potter was on the toilet when one of the most important parts of being a woman happened. She was sitting in the blindingly white bathroom in upstairs Privet Drive when she noticed a smear of bright blood on her knickers. Her vision swam for a moment, and she felt the sweat bead under her arms and on her forehead.  
“I’m dying,” a panicked voice in her head sounded, while the sensible part of her mind spoke up “Don’t be silly, you learned about this in school, there is nothing to worry about, it’s just your period.”  
She calmed down.  
Harriet quickly scrabbled for the loo paper, accidentally knocking the salmon colored bottle of lotion from the side of the sink spilling it all over the tiled floor. “Bloody, Bloody hell,” she cursed at herself silently.  
Quickly grabbing a wad of loo paper and stuffing it in her knickers, she pulled her trousers up and began scooping up the fallen lotion with her hands and putting the ruined product in the sink.  
She’s going to kill me, when she finds out, she’ll kill me.  
Harriet felt the edge of panic, making her hands shake, and her teeth chatter. She managed to get most of it in the sink and quickly ran the water; washing away the evidence. That done, Harriet used the last of the loo paper and mopped up the floor until the tiles gleamed with their former brightness.  
Harriet breathed a small sigh of relief.  
“Girl, get down here,” Aunt Petunia screeched from the bottom of the stairs.  
“Coming, Aunt,” Harriet called as she ran out of the bathroom into the beige corridor, to the top of the stairs where she hastily trotted down to meet her Aunt.  
Aunt Petunia’s eyes were narrowed, and her lips were pursed tightly “What were you doing, you filthy girl,” she hissed through her teeth.  
“ I..”  
“Don’t you dare talk back to me,” Aunt Petunia growled while roughly yanking Harriet, almost dislodging her glasses, towards the kitchen.  
Harriet stifled a yelp as her Aunt’s nails dug into her shoulder.  
As Harriet was getting pulled into the kitchen, she felt a strange wave of calmness fall over her, one that felt right and comforting. Harriet didn’t try to fight it, she was used to strange things happening to her, and it was rare that something odd happens that didn’t leave her in trouble or locked in her cupboard for days. So she let the strange feeling of calm and waiting fall over her while her vicious Aunt shoved her into the modern and brightly lit kitchen.  
Harriet only just managed not to fall flat on her face.  
Dudley laughed from the kitchen table, and Uncle Vernon snorted like a pig from behind his newspaper.  
“Make some more bacon,” Aunt Petunia ordered from beside the new dishwasher.  
Harriet was still wallowing in the strange calm but obeyed instantly. The kitchen was filled with the smell of sizzling bacon, and the sound of Aunt Petunia stacking the dishwasher in a matter of minutes. Aunt Petunia soon deemed the bacon ready and began serving the Dursley’s their breakfast, Uncle Vernon and Dudley falling on the food and getting quite a bit on the polished floor, and cream colored place mats.  
Harriet, who was standing in the corner with a slightly dreamy smile on her face, began to rise out of her calm somewhat to remember that she needed to speak with her Aunt quite urgently.  
She hesitantly approached Petunia, who was spooning the last of the bacon onto Dudley’s plate. “Umm, Aunt Petunia, can I talk to you in private,” Harriet began softly.  
“What do you need her for, girl, eh,” Uncle Vernon growled from around his food, his mustache quivering. “Doesn’t she do enough for you as it is?” His piggish eyes stared at her across the table before going back to his bacon and toast.  
“It’s a women thing,” Harriet answered carefully, the feeling of rightness and calm returning to her in full force. Uncle Vernon shot her a look of disgust, while Dudley just looked confused for a few seconds before tucking in again.  
Aunt Petunia’s lips thinned into a line as she gazed up at the ceiling like she was praying for deliverance from the curse that was Harriet Potter. She finally looked back to Harriet and with a quick gesture of her head motioned Harriet to follow her into the sitting room.  
The sitting room of the Dursley house was done in shades of salmon – the most standard color, according to Aunt Petunia, with photos of Dudley and a boarded up fireplace, it was the epitome of suburban normalcy.  
Aunt Petunia stood in the middle of the room, by the floral sofa with her arms crossed, “well,” she inquired archly “what is it.”  
Harriet moved a few steps closer to the older women and took a deep breath to focus herself and announced: “I got my period this morning.”  
Usually having to ask Aunt Petunia, or tell her anything that was less than normal, was cause for fear, as there was one thing Harriet’s Aunt hated more than anything was spending money and time on the scruffy girl.  
But the beautiful calm prevented all fear and Harriet’s significantly nurtured instinct for self-preservation was vaguely aware that being so calm in the face of danger wasn’t the best idea.  
“I got my period this morning,” Harriet replied dreamily.  
Petunia stilled “freak,” she hissed wildly.  
Harriet frowned at her slightly. She thought getting your period was quite normal. Then again a lot of things that Harriet thought were common like the grass whispering secrets to her or the shadows in her cupboard forming shapes like clouds were considered the height of Freakdom by her Aunt.  
“You’re not even eleven yet,” Aunt Petunia continued “how could this happen your too young.” “Clearly it’s your father’s vile blood,” she paused “ yes, that’s it, that’s always been the case, freak of a father and freak of a daughter,” she looked pleased with herself as if she had just uncovered a divine secret.  
My father is not vile or a freak  
Harriet felt a tightening in her chest and the calm she was bathed in morphed into a cold, ferocious anger she had never felt before, take up residence in her mind.  
Aunt Petunia continued on, not noticing the changes to her niece “Regardless of your father’s rottenness,” she stated with an accusing glare at Harriet. “This is more money for you and,” she began to glare intently at her “you better not start making eyes at Dudley or any other boy,” Aunt Petunia told her sternly.  
“What!” Harriet stammered in surprise, hardly daring to believe this. The shock of this had Harriet gaping like a carp. She didn’t fancy anyone, not even a celebrity on the telly, let alone some boy as disgusting and piggish as her cousin. She didn’t think that anyone could ever want to make eyes at Dudley. The anger in her mind began to burn brighter.  
Petunia narrowed her eyes and smirked at her. “You’ll be just like your mother, and she was an utter tart, always trying to get in with her betters,” Aunt Petunia said. “Running around at all hours of the night with that Potter bloke, getting pregnant almost immediately, she had no shame, the slut,” Aunt Petunia finished with a smile and a gleam in her eye. “Mark my words, girl, you’ll turn out like her and end up the same way.”  
There was a finality to her words that made the pink room suddenly seem cold.  
“Don’t say those things,” Harriet whispered her eyes downcast and her fists balled at her sides. The rage inside of her had swelled to the point where she could barely contain it. Harriet felt sweat on her forehead, and she began to pant a little.  
“Don’t you talk to me that way,” Petunia hissed with a slightly crazed look in her eyes, and slapped her hard, with a resounding thwack.  
Time stood still for a moment and the rage that had been building in her for so short a time crashed into the hate, bitterness, and jealousy that had been inside her for nearly eleven years and released an inferno that would change Harriet Lilly Potter’s life forever.  
She was no longer bound by the rules of man, which had repressed and chained her for so long. Harriet felt for the first time in her life what it was like to be truly free, to answer only to her own desires.  
In that one eternal moment, Harriet changed into who she was always meant to be. Harriet felt her limbs strengthen and her nails grow long and sharp. She looked up at her Aunt, but instead of staring with the eyes of her mother, Petunia only saw the emerald green eyes of death.  
That was the day Petunia Dursley knew true fear.  
Petunia didn’t even have time scream before one small, clawed hand reached up and slashed her neck, just above her pearl necklace. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched the graceful arc of her own blood spatter the salmon walls and family photos. So much blood gushed down her chest, it turned her entirely white blouse crimson.  
As Petunia slumped to the floor there was a tiny instant of pain in her belly as her niece ripped her body open to reveal her glistening organs. The last thing Petunia ever saw was the shine of her own intestines in the morning sunshine and the child with hair of shadow consuming her liver with a smile on her face.


End file.
